


These streets will make you feel brand new

by Korrigan131



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:45:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korrigan131/pseuds/Korrigan131
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Away from the PR work, they explore the New York City together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	These streets will make you feel brand new

**Author's Note:**

> I believe that this was the very first Paul/Nico fic ever written(!)

There’s thunder in the air, the humidity thick against their skin as they exit the air-conditioned terminal and go in search of a taxi (sorry, a _cab_ ). It’s nothing compared to some of the places they travel to, not like the suffocating stickiness of Malaysia and Brazil, but then this place isn’t quite like anywhere else they’ve been. It’s grey like Britain, full of skyscrapers like China, and, like Canada, people talk in a version of English that isn’t quite English. And the people, the people are _everywhere_. As they ride through the grid of streets in their colouring-book-yellow cab, the crowds are swarming over the pavements ( _sidewalks_ ) with that same single-minded determination of London, but somehow more so, like Tokyo, or...

Paul decides to stop trying to make comparisons, because it’s not getting him anywhere.

“What do you think of this place?” Nico asks, also staring up out of the window, to the tops of the sheer glass and concrete walls of the chequerboard streets.

Paul shrugs. “Haven’t made my mind up yet,” he says. “Cities are more your thing.”

Nico turns to smile at him, his unique grin that manages to be absolutely genuine despite the perpetual hint of sarcasm or grumpiness tinging the edges.

“Well when we’re done with the media stuff we’ll have plenty of time to figure it out,” and he gives Paul’s hand the briefest squeeze.

*

The thing, though, that makes this place _completely_ different from anywhere else they’ve ever been is the total anonymity of the city. Glances don’t linger on their faces, don’t twist into excited recognition, there are no demands for photos or autographs, no extended stares from people who can’t believe who they’re seeing, and there’s no need to filter their words or fix their smiles into the polished and media-friendly personas they’re used to. They’re not expected to be here, even if anyone _did_ know who they were, so they’re not. Here, when they finish the photoshoots and interviews, and take off their garish orange and white shirts and branded caps, they can melt into the crowds like ghosts, just two people amongst the millions of others in this mind-bogglingly huge city. Just them. Just together. And for once, they can take that beyond the four walls of their own houses, and out into the world.

It’s paradise.

*

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry, I just _have_ to interrupt,” comes a twanged American voice from behind them as they rattle along on the subway, up until that moment just two tourists perusing their guidebook, and Paul turns at the touch on his shoulder. “I thought I recognised the accent,” she continues, and Paul and Nico both tense and try to look interested, trapped by the confines of the subway carriage and its crowds, readying themselves for the inevitable (though they can’t believe it’s even lasted this long, if they’re honest). “Are you from Scotland?”

“Yes, yes I am,” Paul admits, and the woman almost shrieks, the other subway riders glaring at the break in the etiquette.

“Oh that’s so wonderful! I’ve always wanted to visit, my sister lives in Edinburgh now and she’s always telling me to drop in and...”

As she keeps talking, evident that she has no idea quite who the random Scotsman she just accosted is, Nico tries to bite back the laugh that’s bubbling in his throat, and leaves Paul to struggle to get a word in edgeways about his own country.

*

They steer clear of the particularly glamorous parts, keeping away from the swanky bars and restaurants where people go to be seen – those are the places their lives usually consist of, and they see quite enough of them most weeks. (Far too much, in Nico’s book, especially as Paul is still teasing him for just how well he managed to play the charming millionaire playboy for that Sky feature in Monaco – how disappointed would all those dolled-up girls be if they knew that he had precisely no interest whatsoever in that? Or in them for that matter...) Instead they search for bars that are frequented almost exclusively by locals, and plump for diners that serve both their meals and desserts apparently by the kilo (and Nico teases Paul _again_ about that interview, insisting that this little trip is simply backing up his view that Paul is utterly obsessed with his own stomach, until he pushes Nico sideways into a hedge).

They visit the tourist traps, climbing the Empire State and taking cheesy MySpace photos on their phones. They take the Staten Island ferry and snap pictures of the views, the wind ruffling their hair, before heading to Liberty Island and taking more photos, this time from the crown of the Statue of Liberty. They laugh over maps as they get lost in tree-lined boulevards, ending up in serendipitous parks and squares that look like everything they’ve ever seen in the movies. They go for jogs around Central Park in the mornings, so their trainers can’t yell at them too much, listening to the buskers play sax, and trying not to stare at the couples who wander past in the sunshine, who are totally at ease in the freedom to do and act as they please despite the crowds surrounding them, a freedom that’s completely alien to Paul and Nico, when the circus they travel with and the scrutiny that comes with it demands the utmost secrecy about who they really are.

But whilst it’s a freedom they’re not used to, it’s almost too easy to settle into, finding themselves holding hands as they try to pick out a show to watch on Broadway, their ankles linking under the table as they drink coffee in an identikit Starbucks, and when they head back to Times Square (where barely anyone had recognised them even when surrounded by cameras and dressed in team kit) they even dare the smallest of kisses, the lights and the billboards all around as bright as the floodlights at Singapore (but no, this is _nothing_ like Singapore), and the adrenaline rush of just being able to do that sends them back to their hotel room in a hurry.

*

“What are you looking at?” Nico asks, coming out of the bathroom in just a towel, seeing Paul lounging on the bed.

Paul looks up from the camera. “Just the photos,” he says, and then he grins before the camera flashes, laughing as Nico blinks with momentarily blindness.

“You better not have done what I think you just did...” Nico threatens, and when Paul just laughs again Nico is promptly scrambling on top of him, desperately stretching for the camera as they tussle, until they’re tangled together in a heap.

“You delete that _now_ ,” he tries to growl, and Paul laughs again.

“No chance,” he says, their noses touching. “That’s the best picture of this entire trip.”

Nico kisses him, hard, initially to distract him to lunge for the camera again, but it works rather too well as a distraction, and the camera soon lies abandoned on the floor.

*

They’re not entirely irresponsible, because they’re not stupid; after all, if they could be anyone in this city, then so could anyone else, and they don’t want to turn up in the background of some paparazzi shot, or even just in someone’s holiday photos. They book two hotel rooms, although by the end of the week they’ve given up even trying to pretend that they're using them both, and find themselves daydreaming together about getting an apartment there, somewhere high up where the city lights would glimmer beyond plate-glass windows. But if the circus does come to town it won’t be a safe haven for long, so they’ll enjoy the few short days they have, knowing that when they get home they’ll have to keep the pictures  hidden deep in folders on laptops, or tucked between credit cards in wallets, sharing nothing about this trip in public but the occasional knowing look and vague in-joke. It’s the price they know they have to pay to keep what they have alongside the lives they lead.

*

The cab to take them back to the airport seems to travel much faster than the one they took a week ago, when that peculiarly familiar skyline had first come into view, and Paul had leant right across the backseat to look out of Nico’s window.

“So, what did you think of New York then?” the cabdriver drawls as they speed along the freeway out of town, the skyscrapers receding into the distance.

The two drivers share a look across the backseat, Nico’s same smile making Paul laugh.

“Yeah, I think we liked it well enough, thanks.”


End file.
